


And Then I Think Too Much

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Queen (Band), Smile (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Smile (Band) Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Tim doesn’t mind being the shortest member of Smile - at least, not usually. But when his height causes problems in a band photo session, his insecurities resurface and it’s up to Brian and Roger to cheer him up again.
Relationships: Brian May & Tim Staffell & Roger Taylor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	And Then I Think Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> “Where are all my Smile fics of Tim painstakingly trying to appear taller than he is when he's around his bandmates?” I asked on discord, and when said fics did not immediately and magically appear in front of me… I wrote one myself. 
> 
> This was a bit of an exercise in trying to write a shorter fic instead of painstakingly describing every bit of detail and letting this spiral into another 10k+ mess. I’m not sure how successful I was with that, but I at least gave it a good try!
> 
> (Also yes, [Tim is apparently genuinely short](https://rushingheadlong.tumblr.com/post/636419848586625024/rushingheadlong-im-literally-at-my-desk-at-work) and I have never been happier about anything in my life.)

It comes up before they even start the photo shoot, when they’re still just bouncing around ideas and trying to cajole Doug Puddifoot into actually taking the pictures for them.

“I don’t have a problem helping out, I just think this is going to take a bit more planning than you all think it will,” Doug tells them.

“We’ll work out all the shots ahead of time,” Tim says. He may not be a photographer himself but he is studying for an art degree, and he likes to think he has a decent eye for composition at the very least. “All you’ll have to do is show up with your camera. We’ll handle everything else.”

Doug is gnawing on his bottom lip, and clearly weighing his words before he says anything else. It’s Roger, eager and maybe a bit impatient, who tells his friend, “Doug, whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out already!”

“It’s just… Well, you’re not exactly all the same height, and you’re going to have to account for that if you want the photos to turn out decent,” Doug points out.

Brian shrinks in on himself a little, and Tim bristles on behalf of his friend. Doug may have a point but Tim also knows how sensitive Brian gets about his height and he snaps, “What does it matter if Brian’s a bit taller than Rog and I?”

Doug doesn’t quite meet Tim’s eyes as he clarifies, “It wasn’t _Brian_ that I was talking about.”

Oh.

Right.

It’s not that Brian is too tall. It’s that Tim is too _short_.

It isn’t that Tim forgot about that… but maybe he kind of did. He knows that he has to look up to both of his bandmates (and not in the metaphorical sense - Brian, in particular, has nearly a foot on him) but life’s just too short to let himself really get bothered about his height, and most of the time he doesn’t think about how short he is at all.

Tim has learned to embrace his role as the shortest guy amongst all his friends because, really, what else can he do? He’s just turned 21, and if a late growth spurt was going to happen it would have started by now - as Roger had so kindly pointed out to him when Tim had made a passing joke about maybe still having a chance of gaining a few more inches.

In a strange way, there’s even something almost liberating about recklessly embracing being short. When they’re all crammed tight together in the van he can nestle in the back among the instruments and gear and still be relatively comfortable. He’s never had to worry about his feet hanging off the edge of a bed, and he’s yet to encounter a sofa that he can’t easily crash on for a night. While his friends risk breaking their ankles in their platform boots, Tim is content to bound around in trainers and laugh at them when they stumble in their ridiculous shoes, and his shorter stature certainly hasn’t hurt his popularity with women.

So Tim genuinely hadn’t considered how his height would make the photo shoot more difficult - and for a moment, he’s simply struck dumb by the realization that this may genuinely be a _problem_ , in a way that his size rarely causes problems for him anymore.

“So what if Tim’s a bit shorter than us?” Roger asks. “Why would that stop the photos from coming out fine?”

“Because from the sound of things, you want these to be fairly close-up shots that you can use to market the band,” Doug says. “And in order to make that happen we’re going to need a bit of camera trickery to get you all in the frame - unless you just want Tim to be a floating head at the bottom of the photos.”

“So we won’t take close-up shots then,” Brian says. He still seems a little testy about the conversation, though Tim can’t tell if that’s because he’s just generally prickly about this subject or if he feels the need to be offended on Tim’s behalf.

And if it’s the latter, well, that’s just ridiculous. Tim’s height doesn’t bother him and he doesn’t see any reason why it should bother anyone else either, or why it should be any cause for them to change their plans for this photo session.

“Brian, don’t be stupid here,” Tim says with a bit of a laugh. “We have to actually be able to see our faces in these photos if we want to use them for anything! So we’ll make me look a bit taller than I really am, and it’ll all work out in the end.”

“Until someone books us, and they realize you’re just a little sprout,” Roger teases. He reaches out to ruffle Tim’s hair, but Brian bats his hand away before he gets anywhere close to Tim.

“Don’t be a fucking prick,” Brian mutters, without any real heat behind it.

“So that’s settled, then, is it?” Doug says, before Roger and Brian can keep riling each other up. “You’ll plan out the shots _and_ how to make ‘em work properly, and I’ll just show up to take the photos?”

Tim, Roger, and Brian all voice their agreement and that does, in fact, settle that.

They plan to meet up outside the Royal Albert Hall that weekend. Tim is determined to make sure that Doug has to do as little work as possible to get these photos taken, and so he drags Roger over there earlier in the week while Brian is in class to plan out how to take the half-dozen or so photos so that The Exhibition Memorial will still be visible in the background.

Roger comes up with a few suggestions for places where one or two of them could be sitting, and Tim finds the best spot on the stairs so he can be a step above Roger and Brian without anyone being any the wiser. It’s odd, having to put that much thought into his own height for once, but by the time Roger convinces him to call it quits for the day Tim is at least confident that they have this photo session in the bag.

But that confidence doesn’t last long once the weekend actually rolls around and Doug starts trying to set up his shots.

“Tim, can you stand up a bit straighter?”

“Tim, pull your shoulders back a bit… And Brian and Roger, lean down a little bit further…”

“Tim, do you want to move up another step? Maybe make it two more, actually…”

Every shot that Roger and Tim had carefully planned out now comes with some new direction from Doug to make Tim appear as tall as possible - and with every adjustment to something that Tim thought was already perfect, he feels his confidence wear away a little bit further.

It’s never him standing one step away from Roger and Brian like he expected and was prepared for - he always gets asked to move two or three steps up instead. Brian gets asked to move another step down and slouch a little bit more, while Tim is asked to stand up as straight as he can. Brian and Roger lean back against the railing and Tim moves several _feet_ forward to make the forced perspective work, and his stomach twists with a low shame that he hasn’t felt in years.

“C’mon, Doug, is this really necessary?” Roger asks as Tim is yet again asked to move several steps further up.

“It is, unless you want everyone to know how tiny your lead singer is,” Doug says as he checks the shot.

Tim can feel his face flush with embarrassment at being called “tiny”. It may be true enough but Tim has too many memories of being teased with the nickname “Tiny Tim” in school and that simple adjective still has the ability to cut through his defenses like few other insults can. He’s suddenly glad that he made those Smile mouths for them to wear to show off the band's logo, because his mood has turned so sour that he’s not sure that he’d be able to muster up a genuine grin right now even if he tried.

The worst part, he thinks, as Doug once again moves Brian and Roger around so they don’t dwarf Tim in the photo, is that he can’t even get angry about this. Roger may have been joking about them running into problems when they show up to a gig and people find out how short Tim is, but he can’t shake the worry that there’s a kernel of truth hidden in there too.

Because the implication is that they _won’t_ get booked if people knew Tim’s height upfront and that rankles him, even if he has no idea how real that possibility actually is. Their music is excellent and Tim knows, he fucking _knows_ , that they have what it takes to go far with this… but there is a voice in the back of his mind now that’s asking, “Who would want to shell out the money for a band fronted by a short-ass like _you_?”

Tim hates that he’s thinking like that, that he’s letting this get under his skin in ways that it hasn’t in _years_ , but once the thought is there it doesn’t want to leave. It festers in the back of his mind as they wrap up the group photos and Doug talks them into some individual shots (at least Tim doesn’t have to worry about appearing too short in _those_ ), and by the time Roger is posing for the last few photos of the day Tim is in a right miserable mood.

“Today’s gone well, hasn’t it?” Brian says casually as they watch Roger make a face at Doug, who seems to have had just about enough of Roger’s antics for one day.

“Been fine, I suppose,” Tim mumbles.

Brian laughs. “It won’t kill you to acknowledge the positive things from time to time, you know,” he teases as he hops up to sit on the wall that Tim is leaning against.

He goes to rest his elbow on Tim’s shoulder, a gesture that he’s done countless times in the past and that usually doesn’t bother Tim - but today the last thing he wants is to be an armrest for his taller friend, and he ducks away from Brian and snaps, “Don’t touch me.”

Brian quickly jerks back, nearly toppling over the wall as he unbalances himself. “Sorry,” he says, clearly surprised by Tim’s tone. “Everything alright?”

“‘course it is,” Tim says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you look like you’re wound tighter than a spring,” Roger says as he jogs over to them. “Doug’s all set and he’s gonna take off, so what d’you say we head down to the pub? Have a few drinks, get you out of whatever foul mood you’re in…”

“I’m not in a fucking mood,” Tim mutters. The look Roger gives him makes it clear that he’s not being convincing, and Tim sighs and relents, “Fine. Just a few drinks, though, I can’t be staying out half the night.”

“Neither can I,” Brian says as he hops off the wall.

“I can!” Roger says with a laugh as he slings an arm around Brian’s shoulders, though thankfully he doesn’t try to do the same to Tim. “But we’ll just have a drink or two, and get you two old grandpas home soon enough.”

“You’re only two years younger than I am, you know!” Brian reminds him as the trio sets off.

“Yes, but which one of us is still under 20, hm?”

“Only for a few more months!”

Tim listens to Roger and Brian’s friendly bickering as he follows behind them. It’s strange to think that they’ve only known Roger for a few months when he fits in with them so perfectly, filling in the gaps in Tim and Brian’s friendship that Tim hadn’t even noticed were there before Roger showed up. He’s a good friend and normally Tim enjoys grabbing drinks with him and Brian but today it just barely feels like the lesser of two evils, only slightly preferable to going home and stewing in his misery alone.

Tim knows that he’s not going to get away with stewing while he’s with his friends, but he’s still quiet as Roger buys the first round and the three of them settle at the only available table, the slightly higher one tucked awkwardly in the corner with the chairs that are just tall enough that Tim’s feet barely brush against the floor.

When they come here on good days, celebrating the end of term or the booking of a new gig, Tim will gleefully swing his legs, so full of giddy happiness that he couldn’t sit still if he tried. Today, though, he sits as far forward as he can, hunched over the table and stretching his feet down to force them to touch the floor and trying to pretend that the position isn’t as uncomfortable as it really feels.

In contrast, Roger sprawls out in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world and Brian takes a moment to stretch out, his joints popping as he draws himself up to his full height before he relaxes back in his seat with a contended sigh. “Man, I’m glad that photo session is done. I don’t know how much more slouching I could’ve handled.”

Tim’s stomach twists with some awful combination of emotions, anger and jealousy that are both completely misdirected, especially when Tim knows better than most the insecurities that Brian has about his own height. Still, Tim thinks that those insecurities have to be better than the ones that are now plaguing him and he can’t help but grumble, “I’d take that over being told to stand up straighter for half the day.”

“Is that why you’re being so quiet?” Brian asks. “You’re upset about how the photo session went?”

“No, I’m not,” Tim says. That may have been the initial cause of his bad mood, but it’s not what’s bothering him now, not really.

“Right, of course you’re not,” Roger says with a friendly roll of his eyes that makes it clear how little he believes Tim. “You were fine before Doug started snapping photos and now you’re about ready to take our heads off. It’s not hard to figure out that _something_ about today set you off.”

“You don’t know shit, Taylor,” Tim says, his frustration boiling over before he can think to hold it back.

“Don’t I?”

“No, you don’t,” Tim says. “It’s not like _you_ were the fucking reason Doug had to waste so much time trying to get those perspective tricks to work on every photo.”

Roger sits up a little at that and gives Tim an incredulous look. “ _That’s_ what you’re upset about? Tim, Doug’s a great photographer and I promise you that the photos turned out fine. No one’s going to be able to tell that you’re shorter than Brian and I.”

“Not until we show up to a gig, you mean.”

“Are you seriously still stuck on a joke that I made days ago now?” Roger asks in disbelief. “No one’s going to give a rat’s ass if you’re a bit of a munchkin-”

“Don’t fucking call me a munchkin,” Tim snaps. “Don’t call me sprout, or Tiny Tim, or any of that shit, you got it?”

“This is really upsetting you, isn’t it?” Brian says, a bit quieter than either Roger or Tim have been so far. “I didn’t think your height ever bothered you like this.” _It never has before_ goes unspoken, but Tim knows that he’s thinking it.

“It doesn’t usually,” Tim admits. “But it’s different when it involves the band.”

“It shouldn’t be different,” Brian says.

“But it _is_ ,” Tim insists, frustrated that they don’t seem to be getting this. “Roger was right, what happens when we show up to a gig and they realize just how misleading the photos were, hm?”

“Jesus, it was just a _joke_ ,” Roger mutters into his drink.

“But you were right!” Tim tells him. “It’s not just our music that people care about. If we want to be taken seriously as a band, our appearance matters too. That’s why we did the photo shoot in the first place. That’s why Freddie keeps hounding us about our outfits-”

“Yeah, but you don’t listen to him anyway!” Roger interrupts.

“Well maybe I should!” Tim retorts. “Maybe if we gave more of a damn about how we looked it won’t matter when I come out on stage and look like a fucking teenager!”

“Or _maybe_ it won’t matter because our music sounds fucking excellent and that’s more important here!” Roger says hotly.

“You don’t know that for sure, though!”

That’s the crux of Tim’s problems here, the reason that this has gotten under his skin and now refuses to leave him alone. What if their music alone just isn’t enough? What if everything they’re doing, the rehearsals and the gigs at Imperial College and Roger’s bookings out in Cornwall next month, won’t be enough to truly get them off the ground if everyone takes one look at Tim and preemptively decides that he’s not frontman material?

What if Smile fails, and it’s entirely Tim’s fault?

It’s a fear that’s lurked in the back of his mind since almost day one, but after an afternoon spent being inadvertently humiliated by every attempt to photograph the band together it’s been given a new and horrible outlet that Tim can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tries.

“Tim, hey, look at me,” Brian says, gentle but firm. Tim forces himself to meet Brian’s eyes, and the guitarist asks, “How many times have we played together?”

“Three.” The band has only been together for a few months so far, after all.

Brian snorts a little and corrects himself. “Not as Smile. How many times have _we_ played together, you and I?”

Tim has to think about that one for a moment and he tries to tally up all the 1984 gigs they would have played at together. “Fifteen? Twenty?” he guesses at last. “Somewhere around there, anyway.”

“And how many of those were repeat performances at the same venue?” Brian asks.

Tim knows what Brian is trying to get at here and he looks away from him rather than answering, and pretends that he doesn’t hear Brian’s soft sigh before the guitarist continues with, “Your height hasn’t made one bit of a difference in our bookings over the last three or four years. It’s not going to start making a difference now, I can promise you that.”

“But if we ever want to record-”

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say that any recording deal that comes with stipulations about our height or appearance is going to get thrown out straight away,” Roger cuts in. “Doesn’t matter if they’re saying shit about you being short, or me being mistaken for a girl half the time, or Brian being a lanky giant or having ridiculous hair or being too brainy for his own good or-”

“Yes, Rog, alright, we get your point,” Brian interrupts, with a thin hint of irritation in his voice but an exasperated smile on his face nonetheless.

“Well that’s what we aren’t, isn’t?” Roger says. “Tall-” he points to Brian, “-small-”, he points to Tim, “-and me!”

“What do you mean, “and me”?” Brian asks. “Shouldn’t it be more like, “Tall, small, and that annoying loud-mouthed drummer who” _-”_

Roger flicks a few drops of condensation at Brian to cut him off and Tim finds himself chuckling a little despite himself, because when put like that it’s clear that none of them are perfect, are they? They’re a hodgepodge of quirks and tastes and characteristics, sometimes clashing and sometimes coming together in perfect unison, but all sharing the same love for their music and confidence that this can really work.

And that’s what really matters here… isn’t it?

“The point is,” Roger continues, “that the music comes first, and appearances and everything else comes second. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Brian says without hesitation.

“Agreed,” Tim finds himself saying as well, and he feels lighter as he says it.

His insecurities are still there - and they may always be there, waiting to resurface when the wrong thing sets him off again - but he’s had quite enough of them for one day. Life’s too short to stay truly mad about things he can’t change, after all, so he pushes his fears down again, sits back in his chair, and kicks his feet out to swing freely under the table.

Roger raises his drink. “To Smile, then!” he says with a wide grin. “With the shortest bassist and tallest guitarist and prettiest drummer this country’s ever seen!”

Tim laughs and Brian rolls his eyes, but offers his own toast. “And to a long future working together.”

“And,” Tim says as he raises his drink as well. “To never, _ever_ doing another photo session!”

Because Tim is starting to feel better about himself now, but he’ll be damned if he ever willingly puts himself in a position where he feels like _that_ ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @aboutthatmelancholystorm for coming up with the “Tall, Small, and Roger” joke and letting me use it here, and to the DL server for help with some of the teasing nicknames for Tim.


End file.
